


Interlude: Gathering Evidence

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: Vexation of Spirit [7]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Shadow Unit, The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Byers has regrets, F/M, Heartbreak for Byers, M/M, on the phone while having sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: Byers is sure Susanne's broken up with him. He's not wrong, but she hasn't said a word to him about it, yet. She's still writing letters, trying to figure out how to say goodbye, now that they've just said hello, again. Chaz is trying to figure out exactly why Byers knows, without letting Alcea know he thinks Susanne's converted. Alcea wants to know why Chaz is so interested in her mother's writing. Reid and Langly are just trying to have a good time, in the few hours they have before things get serious again, and they'd really like to be left to that. Later, they'll have to interview Paul Asher, to see what he knows about the abductions of his 'wife' and stepdaughter.(Susanne/Byers breakup, mentions of Byers/Langly one-night-stand)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're completely lost, I suggest reading at least the fic immediately before this one in the series, which should make much clearer how the hell we got to this point.

_Dear John,_   
_I never imagined I'd see you again. I never dreamed you'd be alive. I sent flowers, every year, but I never sent the letters. Even when you were alive, it was better if you didn't know where I'd gone. We both saw the kind of trouble that could cause. When you died, I stepped out of the shadows to preserve your work, as best I could. I couldn't save you, but I could do that much. Never doubt that I love you, John. You were a good man. And then you were a dead man._   
  
_It was time for me to move on, to set aside the veil and build a life for our daughter. I could raise her to have and defend those same values that made you so charming, when we met, and yet not to be trapped by the belief that others must feel the same. I encouraged her to do what we couldn't: to respect what the system should be, to recognise what it wasn't, and to position herself where she thought she could do the most good. I only wish she could have done it with your name._   
  
_But, I have moved on. You were dead, and Paul is a sweet man and a good father -- all the things I thought you'd be, if I ever found you again. But, now, here you are. And I can't just step away from the life you gave me. I can't risk all the good we've accomplished, you and I. You gave me this life, John, and I'm going to live it. You always worked better without distractions, and I've been with Paul for more than a decade. I hope you can forgive me. We had a wonderful few days that I will never forget, and your legend has inspired the next generation. I will always be thankful for everything you've given me: my life, your love, a wonderful daughter. And I hope you'll still take the time to know Allie, to see what she learned from you._   
  
_I'll always love you, but this wasn't meant to be._   
_Holly_

* * *

Alcea woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating under her pillow. A text from Agent Villette. She turned down the brightness and squinted until the message came into focus.  
  
 _Point of curiosity: has your mother been writing anything, tonight?_  
  
 _Yeah, all night. I think she's writing what she can remember from that place._  
 _I think she's going to break up with dad, too. 'Break up'. Can you even say that when somebody's been dead for fifteen years? But, do I tell him? I feel like someone should warn him at least a little._  
  
 _I think he already knows._  
 _You might want to call him, tomorrow. Afternoon, maybe. After the hangover wears off a little._  
  
 _*My* dad is drunk? I didn't think he was the type._  
  
 _I think you should talk to Frank about that. I don't know either of them well enough to comment._  
 _I also don't think talking to Frank *right now* is a good idea._  
  
 _Why is he drunk too?_  
  
 _He's with Agent Reid._  
  
 _Turning off your phone is the digital sock on the doorknob. He's gotta be that smart, right?_

* * *

Byers woke up alone, sticky in some places, still damp in others, wrapped in Langly's blankets, curled up in Langly's bed... with no Langly. He supposed it was better that way. He wasn't sure what he'd actually say to Langly after the night before. Like this, maybe they could just... ignore it. Pretend that hadn't happened. He'd felt so much better, just after -- finally loved, wanted, accepted -- and now he just wondered how much of that was bullshit meant to make him feel better. Now he just wondered if he'd ruined everything they'd had, if he'd lost his mind and lost a friend.  
  
But, he did remember the night in Nebraska, Langly sitting in the window, tugging at his jeans like he couldn't get them to sit right. At the time, he'd figured it was a nasty sweat rash from sitting in the van too long in the wrong position. That was the kind of thing that happened to them. Maybe Langly hadn't been making it up. Did that make it more or less weird? Langly getting drunk first made it seem like a sacrifice on his part, and in a way, Byers supposed that was proof Langly cared -- as if he needed more. Cared too much, maybe. No, what may or may not have happened in some midwestern motel twenty-five years ago didn't matter. This was still weird, and he'd definitely fucked up. Langly wasn't here, and that said enough. Langly was always there when he woke up, no matter how drunk and stupid he'd gotten. But, this time, he'd gone much too far.  
  
As Byers rolled over, looking for his pants on the floor, he spotted the note propped up on the nightstand, with his name on it. Dread coiled in his stomach, like ice. His hands weighed a thousand frozen pounds, as he tried to make himself pick up the note. Whatever was in it, it would be why Langly had left, and Byers wasn't sure he wanted to know, wasn't sure he could face just how badly he'd fucked up. Susanne, and then Langly. He'd just dug his own grave, hadn't he? There was no way out of this hole. He reached out and picked up the note.  
  
 _Hey, I got summoned back to Special Agent Sexy's lair. Gotta go play fed for a while, but we're gonna fix this. We're gonna find this guy, and we're gonna kick his ass, and then you can be the hero the American people deserve. Yes, you can sleep in my bed while I'm gone. Please don't drink yourself to death, I'll be so pissed. You know how I get about corpses._  
  
Not a word about the night before, but an invitation to stay where he was. The warmth slowly returned to his fingers, as Byers pulled the blanket back up and started to cry. There was already a box of tissues on the nightstand, because Langly knew. He'd fucked up so bad, and Langly just went on like nothing happened. Like nothing had changed. And that was the best thing Byers could have asked for. Langly was still there, even if he wasn't home. Everything would be all right.  
  
So why did he still feel so hollow, so empty?

* * *

The sound of pencil scratching came from Gathani's kitchen, along with two voices, and Alcea waited in the back hall, listening. Somehing wasn't quite right. Her mother had always written those letters, sometimes kept a diary, but why was Agent Villette asking about them now?  
  
"You're doing right, Holly, and don't let anyone say you're not." Gathani's musical voice was always just above the usual level of a conversation. "You write it all down like this, until you get it right. And then when you go tell him, you know just what you want to say. You don't say anything mean, you just tell him the truth. What a sad way, with the two of you though!"  
  
"I know it seems foolish to love a man so much, for so long, but he was all that kept me going, all those years. I don't want to do this, but I know it's the smart thing. It's the right thing. I have a new life, now. It's a good life, and I love Paul very much. Whatever dreams I had, when we were younger, everything's changed since then." The pencil sounds stopped and the sound of a page tearing off a pad followed. "And I don't want to give up a good stable life for something untested, for something I wish I had the chance at nineteen years ago. I wanted him to come with me, but the work was more important. And even then, I knew he was right. I knew he'd have to give it up, if we were together. He'd have to give it up to protect me. He chose the life I gave him, and now it's time for me to choose the life he gave me."  
  
"You already chose it! He's been playing dead for how many years? Johnny's a good man, and I want to see him happy, but you got to do what's right for you and your girl, and my blind grandmother could see you made the right choice and you're sticking with it."  
  
"I hope he's not upset." Holly sighed, the sound of the pencil starting again.  
  
"He will be. Just like you will be." There was a sound of shifting cloth, and Alcea thought it might be one of them moving, maybe leaning toward or away from the other. "This has been a part of both of you for so long, but you can't keep it up, now that you're both not dead any more. You know he's alive. He knows you're alive. It's going to be strange and hard. But, you get to start over, now. You get to try again to be friends."  
  
Gathani sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and Alcea wondered at the rest of that story. Not the sort of question she'd be asking, though. She put her phone on silent and stayed just out of sight, firing off another message to Agent Villette.  
  
 _Why do you want to know if she's writing? And she still is -- breakup letters to dad, now._  
  
 _Long story. I'll tell it to you once I figure out how the middle goes._

* * *

When the phone rang, Reid took a moment to catch his breath and tried to sound like he'd been sleeping. When Langly flexed a thigh, teasingly, Reid's glare could have cut through steel.  
  
"You called me on the cel, so I'd put you on speaker, didn't you?" he deduced after a moment and hit the button, setting the phone on Langly's chest. "You've got us both. Start from the beginning?"  
  
"Somebody needs to check on Fitz, if I've got both of you." Chaz's words sounded like a sudden realisation. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything interesting..."  
  
"In the middle of the day?" Reid managed to sound completely horrified. "Just catching up on all the sleep neither of us has gotten this week."  
  
"Hand me my phone?" Langly asked, after trying to reach and failing.  
  
Reid had the extra few inches to be gained by leaning to the side, and put the phone in Langly's hand, watching the speed with which his thumb moved as he fired off a message to Frohike.  
  
"Okay, now, what the hell is going on?" Langly asked, more than a little annoyed.  
  
"Holly's been writing all night, according to Allie. She's still writing now. I guess it started with everything she could remember about her captivity, and then she started writing letters, again."  
  
"Love letters." Langly sighed and rubbed his eye.  
  
"Not this time. _Breakup_ letters. And I think she started last night, which would, ah... explain some things, I think."  
  
"It's circumstantial," Reid said, holding up a finger at Langly's outraged look. "But, this is one of those cases where it would be very hard to find evidence that isn't. And it's extremely suggestive. I don't suppose Alcea knows the times involved?"  
  
"No reason to, so no. It's just something her mother does, so like you don't pay attention to exactly what time someone you live with gets a cup of coffee..."  
  
"Less useful," Langly muttered.  
  
"Still suggestive. No mention of Holly making any calls?" Reid asked, trying to make sure there wasn't an easier explanation.  
  
"The only calls from the house phone for the last several days are takeout numbers, Alcea's had her phone on her, and Holly doesn't have a phone, right now. Fitz hasn't called in, either. Not since he tried to talk Allie out of coming with us. As far as we've been able to figure out, Fitz hasn't been in contact with anyone in that house since the day before Holly got there, because _you_ called to set that up, not him."  
  
"I still can't believe Gathani was even willing to do that for _me_. I'm going to pay for that later. I know it." Langly laughed and shook his head regretfully, the sound cutting off with a squeak as Reid shivered, suddenly tensing.  
  
"This may actually be exactly what it looks like," Reid admitted, eyes closed as he tried to steady himself.  
  
"As opposed to what's going on over there, which is absolutely not sleeping." Chaz cleared his throat pointedly.  
  
"And if we're all done impugning my virtue, for the day..." Reid smacked Langly's hand aside, as those pale fingers attempted something else with his 'virtue'.  
  
"Ow!" Langly jerked his hand back, nearly knocking the phone off his chest, in a full-body twitch. "Serious question, though: how many calls for takeout since she got there, and how much has she been eating, since the writing started."  
  
Reid's hands stayed pressed against his own thighs, as his breathing levelled out. "Does she look like she's stress-eating?"  
  
"Yyyyes." The sound of typing was the only sound from Chaz for a moment. "And Hafs just handed me the receipts. You'd expect, given three totally average people, that Gathani's takeout orders would double in size when Alcea moved in and then step up roughly the same amount for Holly, but the numbers for Alcea look consistent with feeding one of us, as they should, and the numbers for Holly... We only have one day. It's not really enough to pass judgement with. And if she's eating groceries that are already in the house... I really can't tell from here, and I'm not sure asking Allie's going to help. If I ask her that, she's going to know _why_."  
  
"And we don't want to tell her, before we're sure Holly knows, so that's out." Langly huffed. "So, we're stuck."  
  
"You could always ask Gathani..." Chaz suggested.  
  
"No, I can't," Langly retorted. "That would be beyond weird. We do not have the kind of relationship where that would be even slightly normal. Fitz could ask her and she wouldn't blink. I call her up and ask, and that's not going to go the way you want it to. Or the way I want it to. And she'll probably call Fitz, too."  
  
"So we wait." Reid shrugged, eyes still closed.  
  
"The two of you hear from Agent Prentiss, yet?" Chaz asked, changing the subject.  
  
"No, but as soon as we do, we'll call you," Reid promised.  
  
"Then I'll let the two of you get back to..." Chaz cleared his throat obnoxiously. "... sleeping."  
  
"Thanks, call you later, bye!" Langly grabbed the phone, hung it up before Chaz could say anything else, and set it aside. And for a moment, he did nothing, just staring pensively at his own phone. "Does it make me a horrible person if I don't want to go home and look in on Byers, right now?"  
  
"I don't think so. You let Frohike know what was happening, right?"  
  
Langly nodded. "He'll call me if he needs me. I don't think Byers is going to tell him what happened. I don't think I'm going to tell him what happened. We'll go interview Paul Asher, and I'll come home with it, and that's... that should be enough to set things straight with Byers. I shouldn't have left, but I just couldn't take it. The going got too weird for this long-term professional."  
  
"He asked a lot of you, and you gave it to him. It doesn't reflect badly on you that you need to take care of yourself, before you try again."  
  
"Take care of myself, hmm?" Langly ran his hands up Reid's thighs. "Does it make me a bad person if I want to ravish you until you're incoherent, before anyone else decides they need us for something?"  
  
"I feel like that's not a serious question." Reid rolled his hips and leaned down to press a kiss against Langly's lips. "By all means, remind me of your profound virtue."  
  
"I'm gonna have to thank Chaz again," Langly decided, gazing up at the man who loved him.  
  
"I think that's appropriate, yes."


	2. Chapter 2

This was what Chaz had been waiting for -- the opportunity to get into a room with Paul Asher, to look him in the eye. He could hear Langly typing quietly next to him, supposedly transcribing the interview -- probably _actually_ transcribing it directly to Fitz. Text travelled faster than audio, even with Langly burning his own road back home. Across the table, Reid kept Asher's attention on himself, asking questions every time Asher paused, keeping the subjects shifting too quickly for the man to get comfortable with any of them.  
  
Asher looked like an aging university professor, Chaz thought, or somebody's nerdy dad. Pinkish-pale, a little overweight, floppy brown hair, and light green eyes peering out from behind wire-frame glasses. A suit, yes, but one that made him look harmless, rather than powerful. Brown tweed. Chaz thought Reid would look good in it, and somehow he managed to keep that thought off his face, though it might have improved the expression he wore.  
  
Reid's eyes flicked to Chaz, and a wordless exchange passed between them in a split second.  
  
"Mr Asher," Chaz's voice came as a surprise in the next pause, but a far more pleasant one than the disjoint between his professionally cool face and hungry eyes as he bared a corner of the mirror in Asher's direction. "This may have nothing to do with you. What do you know about your wife's ex-husband?"  
  
Asher blinked and Chaz watched his mind reset like a cathode-ray television powering off and on again. "I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"The name John Byers has come up a few times in our investigation," Chaz went on, filtering Asher's thoughts as they floated. Concern, but not fear. And much less confusion than he'd expected to find.  
  
"John Byers is dead." Asher shook his head. "I never knew him."  
  
And that was true, Chaz knew. Asher knew the name, but there was nothing there, except a little envy about the way Holly spoke about the man and respect for the way Byers had reportedly died. "Tell me what you know about the Air Force expenditures you've been investigating."  
  
"Like I've already explained to Agent Reid, the project appears to be funded entirely out of a discretionary budget. There are no justifications anywhere for the amount of money taken in, or where it's gone, but tracing the signatories and validating their expenses on legitimate projects leads to the conclusion that several facilities and a great deal of electronic equipment have been purchased. Some of this appears to be payroll expenditures, because whoever's doing it is actually doing that by the book -- correct codes and everything. I have to assume that's habitual, because everything else is buried."  
  
"It's the insurance," Langly said, having been silent until this point. His thin lips pressed together, and his eyes never left the screen. "If it's coded wrong, they've got employees with no benefits, and somebody's going to call a reporter."  
  
"He's got a point," Reid admitted. "So, it actually is burying the employees -- they're indistinguishable from anyone else's, at a glance."  
  
Chaz nodded, slowly, his eyes still a little too bright for his face. "Is your wife prone to binge eating, at all?"  
  
Asher straightened, sputtering. "What has that got to do with anything?"  
  
"We're trying to figure out what she may have been exposed to, and whether she'll need treatment," Reid cut in. "Knowing little things about her life and her habits will help us assess her, better. She's been missing for half a year, potentially being held by people we suspect of performing human experiments. And before she met you, she worked on a research project that may have also exposed her to certain chemicals known to have lasting and dangerous effects that she may have been receiving treatment for, before she was taken. What little we know leads us to ask what must sound like strange questions."  
  
"The more we know about her, the easier it will be for us to help her, Mr Asher. All we want to do is make sure she survives, and you can help us do that." Chaz caught Asher's eye, again, as he flipped through the thoughts that floated to the surface. He did love her, Chaz was sure of that, but it was an old and comfortable feeling, rather than the gutpunch he was used to feeling when he found romance. This wasn't passionate or jealous; it warmed him, but didn't burn him, but he envied it, perhaps even more than usual. There was no trace of any intent to harm Holly, and the only concerns Asher seemed to have were that she was all right. ... Oh, and _there_ was something interesting. Asher hadn't known she'd been a researcher. Whoops.  
  
"Does she binge eat, Agent Villette? Yes, she does. About three times a year, she falls into a terrible depression and eats until it stops -- I understand that's typical for people who suffer with depression." Asher still looked profoundly offended and defensive.  
  
"Still loses weight, doesn't she?" Langly asked, not looking up from the screen. "Starts to gain it back a week later?"  
  
Asher stared at Langly, fear finally reaching his face, and Chaz watched the realisation sink in that they knew something he didn't. "How do you know that?"  
  
"Because that's not typical of depression," Reid said, cautiously. "Mr Arroway was exposed to the same project Holly was, back in the nineties." It wasn't a lie, it just had nothing to do with what they were talking about.  
  
"We just need to know how to help her recover," Chaz offered, reassuringly. "This particular condition requires special treatment, if a person has been prevented from handling their own nutrition needs, for a long period. She'll be all right. We're just making sure we do this right." He didn't need to meet Reid's eyes to know they were thinking the same thing. That was almost a confirmation.  
  
"Can you tell us if Holly kept a journal of some sort? Maybe wrote events or experiences down that were just for her own reference?" Reid asked, staying on the subject of Holly, but taking a sharp left.  
  
"Have you found her?" Asher demanded, not for the first time. "She can tell you these things!"  
  
"She's been held captive for half a year," Chaz noted, once again. "She's unlikely to be particularly trusting, right now. I've... worked with people who've been in similar situations, and it's very important that we're able to connect with her time before this, to remind her of who she is and that she's real." He knew Holly was in better shape than he'd been, better shape than those women had been, but principally, the point stood. It was what they'd have wanted to know before going after her, if they hadn't been able to go in with Langly and Byers, and even that had been shaky.  
  
"Holly has a journal -- she shows it to me, sometimes. It's simple things. Descriptions of people and places that she wants to remember, one good thing that happened every day. And she writes letters to John. I've never read them, but I know she does. She's still grieving, and I think she always will be. I've looked him up, you know. He died a hero." Asher's eyes lingered on Langly, as if he was trying to place that face, and Langly took his glasses off and squeezed his eyes shut, head still angled down toward the screen, hand between his face and Asher.  
  
"She's going to need you to remind her of those good things, when she comes home." Chaz looked a little less like a polished mask ill-fit over the destroyer of worlds, but he still looked grim. "We will be bringing her home, Mr Asher, but we want your help taking this project down, before she's back in the public eye -- before anyone can be sure of where to find her."  
  
Asher looked back and forth between Chaz and Reid, sitting up straighter as he slapped his hand on the table. "Then lets bring these bastards down!"

* * *

* * *

When Langly finally got home, Byers met him at the basement door, eyes hesitant and ashamed.  
  
"I'm--" Byers started, but Langly cut him off, grabbing him by the shoulders.  
  
"We're gonna get these sons of bitches. Just like we always did, but, you know, with an actual backup team with badges and guns and unholy cryptid powers." Langly looked Byers in the eye and then pulled him into a fumbling hug, a little too tight. "It looks like this is actually about Asher. As far as we can tell, nobody knows you're alive. Which means we're gonna come out of nowhere. The terror from beyond the grave. And we're gonna get these sons of bitches, Byers. This time, they're going down."  
  
Byers let himself put his arms loosely around Langly, patting him on the back. "Can't breathe."  
  
Clearing his throat, Langly let go and stepped back, meeting Byers's hands, still on his back.  
  
"Langly, are we... Are we all right?"  
  
"Nobody knows where we are, nobody who matters knows we're even alive, and nobody but Hafs is getting into our systems. I've been working on that, but she's actually magic and an absolute pain in my ass. We're fine. Nobody's getting to us."  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
Langly could feel Byers's back tense against his hand.  
  
"Are we, I mean you and me, are we all right? I don't know what I was thinking. That was a terrible idea, and I just... I fucked up. I fucked up, and I'm sorry."  
  
"You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, Byers," Langly teased, a wry look twisting his features.  
  
Byers looked utterly stricken. "That's not-- I didn't mean--"  
  
"Breathe, Byers. I'm jerking your chain." Langly pulled him closer, again, with one arm. "I told you. I've wanted to do that for twenty-something years. Maybe not _like that_ , but... You're my best friend, you formerly-federal fuckwit. It's gonna take more than a boner to get between us. I mean, if you want a boner between us again, I'm going to say you should get me drunk _first_ , next time. You're cute, but when I'm shitfaced, you're totally smokin'. Like, I want to be the meat in a sandwich between you and Farrah Fawcett."  
  
"This is why you don't drink much, isn't it?" Byers laughed, embarrassed.  
  
"You're giving yourself way too much credit. I don't drink much because typos are deadly."  
  
"I'm still sorry," Byers muttered, eyes down, even though Langly couldn't see his face.  
  
_And you should be_ , Langly thought, but for once in his life he didn't say it, swallowing the words before he opened his mouth. What came out wasn't much better. "Oh my god, Byers, you got laid. It's a tragedy for the ages. Do I need to call an ambulance for your broken self-image, or do you think you can drink yourself out of it, like the rest of us?"  
  
"You're an ass!"  
  
"Tell me something I don't know." Langly squeezed Byers again, just holding onto him for the space of a few breaths, and then let go. "Come on, get your shit together. We've got asses to kick."  
  
Byers watched Langly start up the stairs. "As opposed to asses to--"  
  
Langly turned around, eyes sharp, limned in network ghosts not quite visible, but obviously there in the still air of the dimly-lit staircase. "Did you _want_ to try that again?"  
  
For a long moment, Byers looked like he might say yes, before he shook his head and looked away.  
  
Langly sighed with his whole body, rolling his eyes so hard his head moved. "Byers, look at me."  
  
Byers shook his head, again.  
  
"Look. At. Me."  
  
When Byers finally looked up, it was with wide eyes filled with regret, a step to the side from the kicked puppy look Langly was so used to seeing. More like a 'puppy peed on the rug' look.  
  
"I love you." Langly held Byers's gaze until it was totally awkward, and then started up the stairs again. "Military databases to hack, asses to kick! We didn't get them last time, but this time, _nothing_ is going to stop me from wiping the floor with Overlord and his stupid, shitty project."  
  
"Helmsman," Byers corrected, and Langly looked down at him, between the steps.  
  
"I know what I said."


End file.
